


Here's to you, Mr Hiddleston

by Emerald Embers (emeraldembers)



Category: British Actor RPF, Marvel (Movies), Thor (2011) RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/pseuds/Emerald%20Embers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael gatecrashes a Thor cast party and finds himself somewhat smitten with the ethereal being he finds there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's to you, Mr Hiddleston

The official line on the relationship between the X-Men and Avengers franchises was "It's complicated", warmed by a mutual hatred of DC Comics and a soft spot for Ryan Reynolds despite his lack of brand loyalty.

Truth be told, as far as Michael was concerned, a Marvel movie was a Marvel movie regardless of who made it. That was his excuse for crashing a party meant for the Thor cast with James, and he was sticking to it, even if it wasn't the whole reason. Michael loved cinema, had been raised a geek, and almost everyone in Thor's cast had acted in films he adored. He'd been a tad heartbroken at not really getting to meet Patrick Stewart or Ian McKellen despite getting the Magneto role, so he didn't feel particularly guilty about using Marvel nepotism to meet other actors he admired.

It was a pity Natalie hadn't come, but that said, he had turned into a complete embarrassment of a fanboy in front of Anthony, flailing and stumbling over words and generally making an arse of himself, so it was probably a good thing she didn't get to see him do that. James, on the other hand, had proven himself a far better actor than Michael by keeping his face straight throughout his own meet-and-greet, waiting until Anthony had left before joining Michael in a round of _oh my god we just met Hannibal Lecter_.

 

Chris seemed to have nominated himself the host of the party, kept wandering from table to table and making sure no one was going thirsty, and Michael soon realised Chris took an empty bottle as a challenge to his hosting skills. Once his third beer arrived alongside James' fifth he started stretching his drink out, feeling a pleasant buzz he fully intended to maintain. It was practically a law in his family that everyone knew both how to hold their drink and how to get pissed out of their skulls, and he planned to do the former for the evening. James, on the other hand, was slowly but surely getting plastered, and Michael couldn't blame him; he couldn't remember seeing James overindulge once through filming First Class, not even at the wrap party, and thus far he seemed to be a perfectly amiable drunk.

All things considered, he was a little taken aback when his relatively cosy chat with James was interrupted by delivery of James' sixth beer, more so when the delivery was itself interrupted by someone just as unreasonably tall as Chris walking over and kissing their host on the cheek. "Sorry I'm late, darling."

Michael looked up at that with the intention of dropping a hint he was happy to be left alone with James, and swiftly changed his mind, cursed himself for making eye contact. He could cope with his crush on James easily, because even with those neon blue eyes, Michael at least knew they were _married_ neon blue eyes so he could cross the line as much as he liked safely. These eyes were both beautiful and unknown, and therefore horribly dangerous.

"Tom," came the introduction, his hand warm and dry with long, slim fingers.

"Michael," his voice didn't crack as it had when he tried talking to Anthony, so that was a good sign. With the name in place he quickly recognised where he had seen Tom before, but as much as Loki had been nice enough to look at on screen, in real life he was outright stunning.

"I know. You have wonderful teeth."

"He does that," Chris said, patting Michael on the shoulder and adding, "You get used to it," before moving on to the next table.

 

The tone of the conversation before Tom's arrival had mostly been silly, jokes and anecdotes and harmless flirting, but Tom sitting with them quickly lead to the flirtation aspect getting dialled up several notches. Tom seemed to fit in with them easily, and not just on account of being another token Brit; even if he was quieter about it than James, his sense of humour allowed for plenty of innuendo.

When James left for the bathroom, Michael wasn't sure whether to be anxious or thankful for being left alone with Tom, and swiftly had the decision made for him when Tom proceeded to steal both James' seat and his beer. "I thought he'd never leave," Tom said, his grin just anxious enough for Michael to translate the feeling behind it as a mirror to his own state of mind.

"Mr Hiddleston, you're trying to seduce me, aren't you?"

Tom snorted and put down the stolen beer before putting on what appeared to be his best attempt at a poker face, expression almost sincere except for his eyes being a little too amused. "Is it working?"

Michael suspected he would remember that question for a long, long time, licked his lips and took a risk. "Maybe. We'll see."

Tom grinned and leant forward, Michael panicking for a split second at the thought Tom was actually going to go ahead and kiss him in front of everyone, wasn't sure if he was more relieved or disappointed when Tom asked, "So, you're the actor. Do you think Erik and Charles are in love?"

 

By the time James returned Michael had exchanged numbers with Tom and was feeling extra glad he had stuck to drinking slowly instead of getting smashed, because even while mostly sober he felt all too much like giving in and falling head over heels for the man. People like Tom weren't supposed to exist - smart people were supposed to be cynical, affectionate people were supposed to be naive. On a shallower note, sober people weren't supposed to sing pub songs, even if Michael was happy to consider his own three beers sufficient fuel for joining in.

James looked a little put out given he didn't know any of the decent ones, poor bastard, but Michael had reassured him it wasn't his fault, it was just a lack of education. He'd earned a glare for that, and when he moved on to saying it wasn't James' fault he had terrible parents, maybe the Scottish just didn't appreciate all the decent pub songs being Irish, he'd earned a punch in the arm. Mocking James was always entertaining, but watching Tom start laughing helplessly in response to the teasing and the punch made any pain completely worthwhile.

 

The conversation between the three of them settled into an easy rhythm soon enough, even if James grew quieter the longer he drank, occasionally nodding or saying "Mmhm" in agreement with whoever was talking rather than making much of a contribution himself. Michael could spot the exact moment James realised he was cockblocking him, the widening of his eyes and his lips forming an "Oh" sound that never quite escaped.

"I'm going to Chris," James announced, standing up and steadying himself against the table for a moment. "To _find_ Chris. I'll leave you two. Um."

Michael would have watched James walk off, just to see if he managed to do it without falling over, but he was more distracted watching Tom trying not to laugh at James' complete lack of subtlety.

"I don't know why, but I get the feeling he suspects something," Michael said once James was safely out of earshot, triggering the laugh Tom had tried so valiantly to repress.

 

Spending an evening flirting certainly wasn't a bad thing, but it was frustrating that flirting was all he could do. While he had a hunch that no one at the party would care if he kissed Tom, that no one would say anything if he moved his chair closer to Tom's or rested a hand on his shoulder, he couldn't risk his career on a hunch. That said, if he did, his agent would probably have stopped slapping him to laugh for a moment that both actors who played Magneto in an X-Men movie liked men; maybe it was a secret requirement for the role.

At least he could see the same frustration in Tom, which made it a little easier to bear, and when Tom said he was going, it was a good excuse to give him a kiss on the cheek and wave goodbye, even if he wished he could just aim for the lips and pretend he had missed.

Watching Tom say goodbye to everyone else left him wondering if maybe he ought to find James instead of sitting by himself and riding out the high of having a number on his phone he actually looked forward to calling, but the idea didn't quite feel right. He suspected he knew why, but wasn't entirely sure until Tom stood at the door, hesitated without looking back, and walked out.

If he didn't run now, Tom might just keep walking.

Michael shrugged his jacket on and quickly checked he had the essentials with him - keys, phone, wallet, passport - hurried over to James and said a blissfully quick goodbye before walking out the door, not feeling for a moment like he'd fooled anyone and not caring half as much as he should. No one had proof, it wasn't as if he'd taken an outright stupid risk.

Regrets were something for the characters he played, not something he should make for himself, and Tom's embarrassed smile when Michael ran across the car park to stop him driving away without an extra passenger proved him right. Choosing between a possible risk and a definite regret should never have been difficult.

 

The drive back to Tom's flat felt longer than the seventeen minutes it took, Michael's stomach flipping all too often as he considered all the ways he could be making a horrible mistake, only settling once they were indoors. Almost no decoration, just suitcases, boxes, piles of books and a scattering of DVDs.

Michael didn't know why, but he kept thinking of Matilda and Miss Honey.

"Should I put the kettle on?" Tom asked, smiling brightly, and God only knew why - maybe it was the drive, maybe it was too long spent playing it safe in front of everyone, maybe it was just the smile on its own - but that was too much. Michael grabbed him by the arms, shoved him back against the wall and kissed him hard, wondered how lips that thin could be so generous, how Tom could be so maddeningly perfect. Something clattered on the floor, dropped by one of them or knocked out of place, but Michael paid it little attention, focused on the warm strength of Tom's wrists under his hands and the way Tom's lips moved with his. One of them should have been hard; knowing what to do would have been so much easier if it was just about fucking and moving on.

The kiss had wiped Tom's smile off his face but it didn't help Michael any, Tom's expression so understanding it was crushing. He knew he could still turn tail and run, and Tom wouldn't judge him for it; even if this wasn't the first time he'd gone back to someone's place in secret, it made him anxious to be so undeservedly trusted.

"If tea's no good, I have whiskey," Tom said, breaking a silence that had gone on too long, and Michael laughed.

"I'm sorry, I'm - I didn't mean..." Michael cut himself off, tried to come up with something resembling a coherent response before continuing, "It's been a while."

"Two years," Tom said, and Michael tried to wrap his head around that idea, failed completely. Tom was strange and beautiful and funny, and the thought of someone letting him go - whether he was the one who left them or not - just felt wrong.

Tom dropped to his knees for a moment, picking up what had fallen before - just a mobile, intact and undamaged despite the laminate flooring - and Michael stepped away, headed for the sofa and made a space for himself in between the books, papers and magazines. "I'll take you up on that whiskey."

Tom grinned and nodded, putting the mobile aside before walking out, the unsettled feeling returning to Michael's stomach at being left alone for a moment. Although it wasn't exactly cold or unwelcoming, there wasn't much personality in the flat and Tom's brief absence gave the room the feeling of something being switched off. It didn't help that some daft part of him had decided that Tom was too perfect to be real and expected him to disappear in a puff of smoke.

Maybe it was cheeky to turn on the television, but he needed something to distract himself from the idle fantasising and it was either that or find something to read. He suspected he'd get in a lot more trouble for flicking through possibly confidential scripts - which, to be honest, were far more tempting reading material than books - so in the end television just happened to be the lesser of two evils.

 

Any attention he'd been paying to CSI was quickly discarded the instant Tom walked back in with their drinks, shirt untucked and blazer discarded, the sight of rolled up sleeves somehow more obscene than if he'd walked in naked. "Cheers," Michael said, clinking their glasses together after taking his.

"Skol," Tom replied, and Michael wanted to steal the glass away to kiss him again, hated this halfway point where he didn't know what he was and wasn't allowed to do yet, even if he was thankful that the whiskey was soothing in a way beer hadn't been. Decent whiskey too, and he had a feeling Tom wasn't the type to get drunk often, if at all.

"So," Michael said, suddenly thankful for James and his blissful disinterest in anyone else's sexuality, "Chris doesn't know, then?"

"Honestly?" Tom shrugged his shoulders, looking thoughtful but not particularly upset or frustrated, "I don't know. I'm almost certain Anthony's guessed. I get the feeling Chris just thinks I'm - European."

Michael snorted, earned a thoroughly deserved side-eyeing for the favour. "It's a useful blind spot," he said, watching Tom take a sip before giving in and putting down his own glass, reaching for Tom's moments after. "This is surreal -"

"I agree," Tom said before Michael found himself getting pushed back against the sofa and kissed hard; nothing could describe what a relief it was to find out Tom could be greedy too, biting at Michael's lips before nudging them open, even if he was shy with his tongue. It almost felt like a game, sucking on Tom's tongue when he could catch it, licking his way back into Tom's mouth to chase after it when he couldn't, and if there wasn't a damned table next to them Michael would have been tempted to just roll off the sofa onto the floor and drag Tom with him. "Fuck," Tom gasped, pulling back and wiping at spit-shiny lips, "I think, bedroom?"

"Yes," Michael agreed, climbing just as unsteadily to his feet as Tom did and following him through the flat.

 

"I haven't had a chance to -" was as far as Tom got before Michael pushed him back onto the unmade sheets and straddled him. The room could have been filthy, sparkling, made out of solid gold, he wasn't interested so long as it had a bed in it for them to make use of.

"I don't care," Michael said, not knowing where to start and thankful when Tom decided for him, stripping out of his shirt and revealing the pale stretch of his chest. Getting naked definitely seemed like a good plan, and even if the bed was only a single, there was plenty of floor space for discarded clothes.

He'd felt a bit daft for wearing a vest under his own shirt at the party, but it was worth it to feel Tom's hands slide under it, pressed tight and warm against his skin as they helped peel it off. While Michael had certainly caught other people staring at him hungrily before, he'd never wanted quite so much to be eaten.

"I don't have any lube," Tom said, sounding both apologetic and frustrated, and Michael stopped Tom's hands where they rested at his hips for a moment, steadying himself against the mental images of what could have happened if they _did_ have lube.

"Christ, Tom," Michael said once his imagination had calmed down enough to be manageable, "I don't fucking care." It came out sounding more callous than it had in his head, and he bent forward, braced his arms either side of Tom's chest. "I don't care," he repeated, making eye contact and keeping it, "You are so, so fucking gorgeous. I'm the luckiest man alive."

Tom licked his lips, distracting Michael for a second, before agreeing, "Yes. You are."

Michael doubted he'd ever tire of that smile, and soon learned he'd also never tire of biting Tom's neck or stroking down his back. More than that, he'd never tire of Tom's hands palming his erection, even if he was about two minutes away from coming in his trousers as a result. It was a decidedly pleasant surprise when he returned the favour and found Tom wasn't wearing anything underneath, head of his cock instantly slick and hot in Michael's hand. "Fuck," Michael groaned, "I'll never be able to take my eyes off you in public again, you know?" Tom laughed before arching up into Michael's hand, and Michael couldn't resist nipping at his ear and growling, "You hussy."

"Oh, I'm shameless," Tom replied, letting go just long enough to push Michael's trousers and underwear down in one impatient shove, and those talkative hands were just as shameless as their owner claimed to be, wringing sounds out of Michael he hadn't known he could make.

Once controlling those sounds became difficult he pulled back from Tom's neck, keening despite himself when Tom raised a hand to slide his thumb between Michael's lips. Michael was a biter, hadn't wanted to leave a mark anywhere obvious, and having something to distract his teeth with was a blessing, while the rough, fast tugging on his cock was a vicious sort of Heaven.

"Yes," Tom urged, and Michael obeyed, moaning helplessly as he bit down on the thumb in his mouth, spilling hot and wet over Tom's hand.

There wasn't much room to lie down next to Tom but with a bit of manoeuvring he managed it, resting on his side and lazily helping Tom out with his free hand, because even if he was exhausted he wasn't a complete bastard. He'd have to make Tom come first next time so he could appreciate it properly, even if he still enjoyed gripping the hard weight of Tom in his hand and the soft, almost musical groans Tom made in response. When Tom closed a hand over Michael's and guided it into moving faster he knew there wasn't long left, and he almost felt guilty watching Tom come, how openly he reacted, eyes squeezed shut and his gasps sounding almost helpless.

He wasn't entirely sure what to do afterwards, aside from to wipe his hand clean on the vest Tom offered him with a grin, but soon found himself manhandled into being the little spoon to Tom's big spoon. He couldn't really find the energy or will to protest, especially as it saved him having to think of something to say. Between Tom's warmth, the beers in his system, and having so recently had a fantastic orgasm, it wasn't too surprising when he swiftly fell asleep.

 

Michael liked mornings. They were often bright, often warm, and he chose to believe they happened before anything could go wrong with a day, as opposed to thinking of them as the follow-up to a previous day's disasters.

Waking up on this particular morning he became aware of three things in quick succession. One, he was in a strange bed. Two, his neck was stiff and sore. Three, that he didn't particularly mind his neck being stiff and sore, on account of the fact someone was kissing it.

"Morning," Tom said, and Michael tensed for a few seconds before rolling over, almost bumping noses in his hurry to assess the situation.

It was unreasonable for anyone to look that good before washing, shaving or brushing their teeth, although at least he had morning breath to prove he was in fact human. "Morning," Michael replied, reaching up and tangling a hand in Tom's curls, annoyed he hadn't taken full advantage of them last night. At least it gave him another new thing to appreciate now, pulling them straight and watching them spring back into place.

"What are you doing?"

Michael stopped mid pull, glad it was amusement and not anger on Tom's face. "You have curly hair," he said, feeling an idiot the instant the words left his mouth, but it was pretty much the only explanation he had.

Tom smirked before leaning forward and kissing him, and Michael couldn't help feeling struck by how easy it felt - how all of this felt. Even though his neck was stiff from the last night's drinking, everything else just seemed to feel right, like it had been meant to happen.

The lazy philosophising would have been easier if he were still drunk. "So," he said, letting go of Tom's hair to stroke down his back, bringing his hand to rest on his hip once he was done thoroughly enjoying how Tom looked when he shivered, "This. I like this."

"I could stand to do this again," Tom said, closing his hand over Michael's and shifting it to a decidedly more interesting place. "Repeatedly. If, of course, you don't mind."

Michael slid a leg between Tom's and rolled until he was on top, Tom sprawled under him like a particularly indulgent feast. Michael knew he certainly wouldn't have objected to eating Tom up. The thought of eating, of course, led to other interesting ideas.

"I should warn you," Michael said, "I'm greedy." Even if he said it more or less in jest, it was true - he'd always been a tad possessive with people, hoarding them because all the travelling meant he couldn't hoard objects easily.

"That sounds more like a promise," Tom replied, rocking his hips into Michael's touch, "And I expect you to keep it."

 

Michael kept waiting for a flaw, for something to show up that took away the giddiness of having a slightly drunk fling turn into a sober and perfect morning after, but Tom just kept flooring him; the only con Michael could find out of all the pros of the situation was the lack of morning after coffee. Even then, courtesy of the last night, he'd been more interested in water than caffeine.

Tom just kept on being _interesting_ on top of being unspeakably sexy; nothing seemed to bore him, and Michael was increasingly sure it wasn't possible to be bored around him, even if one wasn't getting kisses and more out of the deal.

Of course, he'd have to leave the flat eventually. Someone would probably be curious about his whereabouts, and he'd gratuitously ignored his mobile all morning. There were other places to go, other people to see.

Michael watched Tom prepare breakfast, the smell of bacon wafting over from the grill while he poured out orange juice, strange little smile on his face.

Other places and other people could wait. He'd had his share of rushing.

 

The End


End file.
